


How Did I Miss Your Tears?

by fourdaysgone



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Karma is a little shit, Korosensei doesnt exist sorry, M/M, angry!karma, brief mention of kayano, but we already knew that, karmagisa - Freeform, nagisas mom is abusive, they all go to high school, theyre all gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-10-02 21:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10227812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourdaysgone/pseuds/fourdaysgone
Summary: Karma blames Nagisa for how his life is now. Nagisa did it for his friend. High school is tearing apart both of their lives, and while Karma searches for some kind of peace of mind through bullying and abusing others, he fails to notice how close his old friend is to breaking. How much can Nagisa take before it all comes falling down?Note: This is the improved version; it has been edited thoroughly. Enjoy!





	1. What Caused These Changes in Us?

**KARMA —**

My temper is raging. I want to punch the wall, but I know all that will do is infuriate me more; the wall doesn't curl up and cry when I hit it.

    I _hate_ the 'anger management' coach my parents made me see after they found out about my.. violent tendencies.

Ray, as he has insisted I call him, acts like he _knows_ me when he really fucking doesn't. He treats me like a child and asks me how I feel about everything. I always leave the daily meetings angrier than when I arrive.

    I started going a year ago, after my so-called friend decided to tell my parents about my 'issues' with violence.

    _I DON'T HAVE ANGER ISSUES!!_

I fume as I storm into the school, biting the inside of my lip. It's early, so I ignore the looks spared in my direction. They can go to hell for all I care. I just need to get my hands on a no-tell that I can slap around for a while.

Knowing that there is only a little bit of time until class starts, I head to homeroom. My homeroom teacher, Ms. Irina, doesn't count a student absent if their backpack is in class and they arrive in the first fifteen minutes of class. That's the only reason I tolerate her class.

     I push open the door and see Ms. Irina teasing a no-tell student that I can't name at the moment. He is red-faced and sputtering as she leans over his desk, batting her eyelashes and giving him a view of her ample cleavage. I clear my throat to get her attention, and she bounces up, waving as she realizes who I am.

    "Good morning, Mr. Akabane! Did you have a splendid weekend?" Ms. Irina is a blonde woman with ample everything and the ability to wrap the majority of the human population around her little finger. It's honestly horrifying.

    I shrug and set my backpack in my seat. "I'm going to go buy some food." I state as I always do, digging through my backpack for my wallet. Once I've pocketed it, I turn and salute to Ms. Irina. She just smiles and returns to flirting with the no-tell and I back out as quick as I can.

    The hallway is mostly deserted as I make my way to the bathroom, my usual first stop. The ache to beat someone up is still boiling under my skin, but it isn't as hot as it was. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or annoyed.

    As I open the door to the restroom, I hear shoes scuff against the ground as someone panicks into a stall. I'm fairly certain it's a no-tell, but my bladder is my first priority.

    Once I've done my business and washed my hands, I stare at myself in the mirror. The boy who stares back at me has scarlet hair and dark ochre eyes, but he isn't me. I feel lost and confused and blank, unlike him.  The corner of his mouth is curled into a wicked grin and his eyes are wild and angry, so angry. Always angry.

    Then I _am_ the boy in the mirror. Anger flares in my chest and I punch the mirror, shards cutting my knuckles. I don't care, though. I need someone, _anyone_ , to punch just to get rid of this anger. I hate this anger. It means Ray is right, my parents are right, _he_ is right: I have anger issues.

    _But I don't have anger issues!_

    I turn and stalk to the door of the closed stall. I crouch and spot something that makes my lips twitch with a smile. Those shoes...

    _Nagisa Shiota._ My traitor of a friend.

   I jiggle the handle of the door a few times, probably harder than necessary, before it unlocks and the blunette is trapped between the toilet and I.

    Nagisa's hands raise cautiously, azure eyes wide. "Karma..." My name is a breath on his lips. There is so much fear in his gaze. It makes me hate him more.

    I growl slightly, fists clenched. The cuts on my knuckles sting as they are split open, but that simply riles me up more. I want to... I want to...

_I want to break his face_.

    He is staring at me in fear with the same eyes that looked at me admiringly, once upon a time. He is just so soft and fragile needs to be protected, and he treats me like I am not just as fragile and soft.

    _I'm human too, Nagisa._

    That is my final thought before my arm pulls back and I deliver the first blow across his cheek. He stumbles into the wall of the stall, grappling at it uselessly. Before he can stand properly, I hit him across the jaw.

     Then I am waling on him, fists flying. He doesn't fight back as I let the anger that I have denied for years to take me over. My fists find soft flesh; his stomach, arms, face. I don't care if I leave a mark where everyone can see it.

    But Nagisa is weak and it isn't long before his knees buckle and he crumples next to the toilet, letting out quiet whimpers. He curls around himself, holding his stomach and looking sick. But he doesn't cry.

     I feel a twinge of guilt and step back, taking deep breaths and staring at my bruised knuckles. The blood from my cuts has smeared across his cheek and dots his arms and shirt.

    Nagisa lets out a shuddering breath and sits up, staring at me with a new type of fear. I can't quite place it, but it makes me feel uncomfortable.

    I quickly hide this by smirking and leaning down to pluck the hairpins from his blue hair. It falls around his face and makes him look dangerously young and feminine. I tug at his hair to get him to watch me instead of my hand as I pocket the pins.

    "What's a little girl like you doing in here? Horny boys will get frisky if they find you here. Good thing it was just me, huh?" I let go and step out of the stall, checking my watch. First bell will go off in a minute.

    I feel strangely calm after beating up my ex-best friend, but maybe it has something to do with my _anger issues_.

    Yes, Nagisa was the one who told my parents about me. We were friends for years, had been since year one in middle school. We trusted each other with everything; I helped him through his parents' seperation and knew about his mother hurting him. He knew about my mother taking off and helped me stay grounded.

    But high school fucked us up. I started getting more physically violent and liked picking fights. Nagisa retreated into his shell and became a target for bullies. I _protected him,_ but he paid me back by practically forcing me to start meeting with Ray. It was a betrayal for me, and I shut him out the next day. Since then, I forced myself to view him as another no-tell, though my grudge against him wasn't forgotten.

    I leave the bathroom and head to homeroom, ignoring the small voice scolding me for being so awful to him. I feel no guilt as I take more and more steps away from the boy who betrayed me; he deserved every punch he got.

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	2. What Did I Do to You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nagisa's reaction to Karma's violence. (Mentions of slight child abuse - Nagisa's Mom)

NAGISA—

Again. Again. Again. Karma's fists are poisonous punches spreading the blame of my betrayal and his anger across my skin. I know I deserve every hit; I ruined us.

It hurts, but not as bad as when my mother hits me. That is something I don't understand.

I hold back my cries, refusing to let him see me cry. I might be small and weak and fragile but I won't—don't—cry.

Soon my knees give out on me and I crumple to the ground, biting back a whimper as my head hits the wall. The assault stops. Cool fingers slide into my hair. His words mock me and I curl up on the damp tile, my face in my arms and my knees tight against my chest.

Absently, I wonder what my mother will say when she sees me like this. Will she be angry? Probably.

I feel empty; numb. The places he hit ache but they don't genuinely hurt. They're the small prices I pay for fucking up our friendship. 

My hair tickles my neck and shoulders, sending a shiver down my spine.

You are a girl, Nagisa. Now stop that bawling and change into that pretty dress Mom bought you for the party, okay?

I hear the bell trill for homeroom to start, but I don't move. I can't. I'm frozen in a spiral of bad memories, most of them involving my mother.

What did I do to deserve this wretched creature as a child?

Why won't you just wear the heels, Nagisa? Mom bought them for you and she wants you to look pretty tonight, like a real girl.

When I realize I'm on the verge of a panic attack, my breath coming in short gasps and my head spinning hard enough that my vision vanishes for a moment, I force in a deep breath. It feels like I'm breathing in shards of glass, but I force myself to keep inhaling and exhaling.

I scramble uselessly at the wall to stand, my knees shaking. After a few more deep breaths, I'm steady enough to head to class. I stagger from the bathroom, stopping at the door to glance both ways down the hall. Seeing it empty, I slip out the door and head to my locker, walking slowly.

When I reach the rectangular metal slab that I call my own, I brace myself against the surrounding lockers with one hand, my fingers shaking as I swivel the lock. It denies me entry twice before I can get my trembling down enough to hit the right numbers, and it clicks in annoyance as it swings open.

I fish out new hairpins and pull my hair back up, relief flooding through me as the strands are swept away from the nape of my neck. Once my hair is secure and my locker is shut, I cross the hall to the nurse's room.

The moment the door opens, the nurse, a plump grey-haired woman, turns from where she is perched on the edge of one of the two slabs of leather-covered concrete that passed as beds. She looks me up and down, eyes burning into me.

I avert my gaze from her quickly. It feels like her gaze can pierce my clothes and see the bruises smeared across my skin.

She moves, catching my eye once more, and beckons me forward with a few fingers as she stands, patting the place her ample behind had occupied a moment before.

I cross the short distance to the bed and carefully maneuver myself to sit on the edge. My tailbone must be bruised from hitting it on the stall walls earlier; it hurts to sit. My heart is thumping. The nurse has seen me like this multiple times, but it still leaves me on the edge of panic each time she eyes me with that analyzing gaze, as if she can take me apart and put me back together the right way. I almost laugh at the thought.

The nurse snaps her fingers to get my attention, and my gaze snaps up to her. She leans close, letting her fingertips ghost over the bruises decorating my forearm. "What happened, Nagisa?" She asks in that sickly-sweet nurse voice.

I scramble for an excuse, stuck in a state of panic for a moment before I am able to think of vindication for my bruises. "I was just tired, and I wasn't paying attention. I fell down the stairs."

Her eyes widen. "Wait, what-"

"No, no! Not all the way down, just slipped on the last few steps!" I add quickly, seeing as her mind jumped to me tumbling down the entire flight of stairs in the center of our school, which is at least twenty steps.

The nurse gives me another slow look-over, obviously incredulous with my quick-spin lie. She finally sighs in defeat, and I feel my hair settle on my neck. "Okay, Nagisa. What can I do for you? Ice packs?"

I nod, and she shuffles off to get ice packs from the freezer tucked in the corner of the small room. She returns and instructs me to press the packs to different places; my stomach, my arms, and one on the nape of my neck, which explains the ache I get each time I move my head.

The ice is crisp and cold against my skin, keeping me alert and in the present. It keeps me from slipping into memories of home or of the morning's event. When my bruises are numb from the ice, the nurse takes them back and directs me to ice them once I got home. 

I nod absently and leave in a daze. What am I supposed to say to my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Irina? And Karma? He's in my homeroom.

Before I can choose to back out and run, I open the door of my homeroom and step in. All eyes turn to me, and I am about to slip to my seat when Mrs. Irina's voice pins me in place:

"Nagisa! I'm so glad you chose to... what happened to you?" Per usual, Mrs. Irina is blunt and straight-forward, shamelessly raking my rugged appearance and cornering me like a wild animal with just her eyes.

"An accident, with the stairs," I mutter, moving quickly to my desk. On my way to the desk, I catch Karma's eyes. He looks furious, for a reason I can't figure out. I just covered for him, shouldn't he at least be relieved?

I suck in a deep breath and start on my homework, ignoring the curious glances from my peers, and the hostile glare from a certain redhead.

I didn't get the chance to do my homework the previous night because of my mother. She was... getting worse. She was more obsessed with the idea of me being a girl, reducing my homework time and my mental health. I know it is abuse, but there is nothing I can do, right? From this, my thoughts spiral downward into the hell called my mind.

Before I can even think through a single math problem, I am shaken back to the present by the bell ringing.

The other students are leaving, and I lean over to shove my folder into my backpack when someone shoves my shoulder back. I gasp as my back twists uncomfortably and I tip my head back to confront my assaulter.

It's Karma, of course.

"Don't ever think about covering for me again, got it, Shiota?" He snarls, eyes ablaze with an amber fire.

"What? I was just-"

He cuts me off with a sneer. "What? I was just? " He mocks in a high-pitched voice. "Shut up, just shut up, Shiota. Pigs like you deserve to stay down in the dirt." Karma shoves my shoulder again and stalks off, leaving me with a spinning head.

Why was he so pissed that I helped him? Did he just feel the need to argue with everything I do?

I sigh and zip my bag up, swinging it onto my back. I am tired of him, and of my mother, and of the world. I am too tired to care that much, anymore.

I don't know much, I observe as I head for second period, but I do know one thing: today will be a long day.

<><><>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading guys! I love you all~


	3. What Makes Me Happy With This?

KARMA—

I am boiling over with anger. How dare he-

I don't understand my anger; shouldn't I be pleased that he didn't tattle me out?

A part of me laughs bitterly. Of course you are, baka. You're human. He helped you, but I'm not one to listen to the part of me that's right. Instead, I begin to plan the prank on Nagi-Shiota. Shiota, Shiota.

Anger is not a new emotion; I let it soak through me until nothing is left, though the image of N-Shiota's face, frantic, confused, and... a little unruffled, as if he has adjusted to the cruelty that comes from me. That part pisses me off the most, how dare he adapt to the torture I give him!

I storm down the hall and tug out my phone, rapidly texting two of my best buds, Terasaka and Yoshida, to meet me in the usual place. A plan is forming...

<><><>

When lunch arrives, I have finished my preparations. I know where Nagisa eats lunch, and with the help of Terasaka and Yoshida, we will tear him down.

The moment the male sits down on the bench outside, his back to where we are hiding, we spring out from our hiding spot, bucket in hand.

Nagisa lets out a yelp when he is soaked with icy water, turning those big blue eyes on us.

I snicker and roughly grab his arm, yanking him to his feet. "Oh dear, Shiota! What happened? We should really get you out of those wet clothes." With Terasaka holding his other arm, we pull him away from where he eats back into the school and into the abandoned boys' bathroom on the second floor.

"Don't worry, baby Shiota," I purr into his ear, "I have an extra uniform you can wear for the day, okay?"

He shakes his head at me, eyes empty. "Whatever, Karma. Give me the uniform and let me go," he says calmly, though I can feel him shaking, what with my hands on his arm. I don't know if he is shaking because of our prank or the chill of the water. I hope it's both.

I tell Yoshida to watch the door and have Terasaka hold his arms while I get the uniform. Twist: it's a girl's uniform.

Nagisa blanches when he sees it, shooting me a panicked look. Is he actually that scared of being treated as a girl? Is that the kind of guy he is?

I smirk, as nothing else matters. I refuse to think of the times I had held him after...

The memories are tucked away for a more private environment. I don't care about Nagisa anymore, why should I care about what will happen to him at home?

I start with his shirt, and he doesn't struggle much, as the shirts are the same for both genders. I'm trying not to stare at the pale expanse of his chest, or the faded yellow bruises dotting his abdomen and wonder if it was me or... I also am completely unaware of the smooth, lean muscle of his arms and chest, or the way his back arches in silent protest to what we are doing.

The shirt is a little loose in the bust, and it's the smallest size but it still is a little long on him. 

When we get to his pants is when it gets bad. After removing his shoes, I have to take off his belt, and I'm fighting off a blush as I kneel before him and unbuckle his belt. It's worse because he's trying to get me away from him and his hips are moving and I feel like I'm going to throw up. 

I finally manage his belt and yank down his pants and his legs are a mess. Thin and pale and covered in bruises that I know, I know, aren't from me. I feel sick. 

I say nothing, as I can feel Terasaka watching me, and instead I unfold the skirt with shaking fingers and slide it up to his hips. I tighten the skirt and straighten up, taking Terasaka's place holding Nagisa. I pin his wrists over his head and I can feel how much he is shaking. It's enthralling.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" I hiss into his ear as I slide a hand through his hair and pocket the second pair of pins. "A beautiful girl in the boys' bathroom? That's asking for trouble."

He is staring up at me with empty eyes. "Let me go, Karma." His voice is higher than normal, and it quivers on my name. I bask in the feeling.

Yes, Nagisa, fear me.

I raise my eyebrows at him. "What was that? I can't hear you with that sweet little voice, princess."

"Let. Me. Go." His voice is firm and true and sends a shiver down my spine. I don't know that Nagisa.

"Oh, dear me. Let me tell you something." I grin a wicked grin and press my mouth against his ear. "You fucked up everything for me, and I'm never going to finish punishing you for it. We both know why I dressed you like this. You don't want them to see your true colors, do you? That's why you're shaking." I am an evil person, I know, and I shift so one of my legs is positioned between his. "You don't want them to see the child that your mother truly wants, not the messed up little bitch with a dick that she gave birth to." I snarl these last words.

He is shaking and a strangled noise comes from his throat. His mother is a low hit, the lowest hit, and we both know it.

"What's wrong, princess?" I sneer. "Cat got your tongue?" I pull back from his ear to take in his expression and stop short. Are those... tears? Is he about to cry?

For all the punishments and torture Nagisa had gone through his whole life, with his mother and then me, I had only seen him cry once. It was the first time that...

He had explained to me that he only cried when he felt like life wasn't worth living, when he felt betrayed and unloved. Did I really make him feel like that?

A part of me was proud. I broke Nagisa Shiota. I managed my goal. I hurt him in a way that was irreparable.

Another part of me was crushed. I had made Nagisa cry. I didn't mean to- didn't want to-

My moment of distraction allows him to yank himself out of my grip, and I think something on my face prevents the others from stopping him. A last glance at his face let me see that he was full-out crying.

Nagisa was crying.

Nagisa was crying.

Nagisa was crying.

I never meant to make him cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Another chapter! Thank you for being patient with me, as I've been quite busy recently. If you read my 'Important Message' this is kind of a repeat(it's deleted now), but finals are coming up, which is stressful, and I've had some bad writer's block, plus I sprained my wrist a few days ago, so no promises on when the next update will be. Hopefully in the next month or so.


	4. What Changes the Way You See Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Nagisa's mother ft. implied physical / emotional abuse

**NAGISA—**

My cheeks are stained by the fat, warm tears rolling down my face, and at first, I attempt to brush them off but give up once I realize my efforts are not having any effect on the streams of tears.

I can't believe that Karma tried to hit so low; he knows about my mother and her behavior towards my gender. She tries to treat me like a girl, pampering me with dress-up and dolls and getting heavy-handed when I refuse.

I know Karma is violent, but does he actually support that treatment? The strange combination of finger-shaped bruises and flowing ruffles that I have endured is not what I want. And he knows it. But I am too weak to say no.

My mother—she is the first monster I came across. Karma is the second.

My bare feet make slapping noises on the sticky tiles of the school hallway, almost like a hand against my—

Suddenly all I can think of is that time I talked back to my mother, because I was having a bad day already and was too tired to deal with her preening as well:

I was stumbling to my room, backpack slung over my shoulder, wanting to just finish my math worksheet and head to bed. Before I reached the end of the hall, my mother stepped out of the room, smiling blankly at me. Her hands clasped in that way that meant she was in a bad mood.

"Nagisa! You're home! Come to Mommy's room once you put down your bag so we can play dress up." She said cheerily, the fake joy in her tone obvious.

I was tired, tired. I didn't want to play dress up. "No, Mom. I just want to go to sleep." I mumbled. 

That false smile slid from her mouth, and she reached out to grab my wrist before I could push past her to my room. Her grip was firm, and I winced. "Nagi, we're playing dress up." Her tone was too sweet, too perky. I should have noticed.

"I don't want to play dress up, Mom." I said, my tone prickly. I was too tired to dodge the first slap, and the others that followed left me unable to sleep comfortably for the next two nights. So much for getting some sleep.

I am shaken from this memory by the front door's appearance before me, and I am fairly sure I hear the voice of the nurse as I burst from the school and run, run, run. She works during the day. I will be safe at home.

The asphalt tears at the soles of my feet as I dash across the parking lot, before cutting through a thicket of trees towards my house. I don't live very far, and reach my house quickly. I am shaking and breathless as I dig the spare key from the dirt of our small plant outside our door and use it to unlock the door.

"Nagisa?"

I am frozen where I stand right inside the house, my feet staining the welcome mat with blood and my blood turning to ice.

She isn't supposed to be here.

My mother is peeking around the corner with a curious expression, eyes hazy with drunkeness.

I know that the alcohol is why she does it, though I never told Karma this.

Her periwinkle hair is tied back into a messy bun, eyes tired but happy. She is wearing simple clothes and a pinch of makeup. She smiles at me. "You're home early?" Her eyes move from my face down to my clothes and some kind of switch turns the brightness up inside of her as she straightens and beams. "Oh! You're wearing a girl's school outfit? Have you finally submitted to what I want for you?"

That words makes me feel sick to my stomach: submitted. As if I am less than her. Surprising to me, instead of submitting to her words and agreeing with a sense of dread in my stomach, I am boiling with a sudden bout of anger. My fists curl and I bite back a snarky remark.

When I am silent too long, my mother steps closer, inspecting me like I am a slab of meat ready for carving. She eyes my chest and legs with an emotion I can't identify, but it sends shivers down my spine and increases my sudden fury.

Why am I not enough as I am? As a son, as a friend?

As a human?

She reaches out for me with those needy, greedy, fingers, and I lose it.

"Don't touch me!"

My voice is so loud the void that is our house echoes it back to me, and I hate how desperate and broken I sound.

My mother snatches her hand back as if I have burned her, eyes hardening. "Nagisa, all I want is to be able to have a daughter for a little while!" The sickly sweet tone is gone, replaced by a hard growl that reminds me of nails on a chalkboard.

"But there's one problem to that, Mom! I'm not a girl, I'm a boy, and I'd like it if my mother treats me like it!" I am screaming at her, feeling the rasp forming in my throat from the overuse of my vocals. I have never yelled at her. I have never yelled at anyone, at least, not for a long time.

My mother's control snaps and she pushes me back by my shoulders. I stumble into the still-open front door, efficiently shutting it and cornering myself in the process. She descends on me like a bird of prey, the haze in her eyes gone, and it hurts to know that she is choosing to do this, to hurt me. But there is more to her anger this time. More than I've ever seen before. There is jealousy and hatred, both directed at me.

As her nails dig into my upper arms with intent to kill(or so it seems) I have one thought at the forefront of my mind:

_She is going to kill me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas in June, y'all! I finally updated. Tbh I didn't even start the rewrite for this chapter until an hour ago.. also! I don't beta/proofread because I'm lazy, so I apologize for mistakes(such as changing tenses in the last chapter,, oops). Thank you for all the views and comments—keep commenting! I read all of them~  
> (I forgot to post this on AO3 until now, sorry...)


	5. What Did I Miss With You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karma introspective, except not really. Nagisa is (not) okay, and Karma realizes he cares for him.

Trigger warning: slightly graphic descriptions of violence/aftermath of violence(injuries), implied child abuse

<><><>

**KARMA—**

Three whole days have slid by before I can even catch my breath, my mind too occupied with thoughts of a certain bluenette; said boy has not shown his face once, since the day in the restroom. My dreams are haunted by the canvas painted on his pale legs that day, the blues and black staining his fragile body with so much pain. I wonder how bad it is now.

I am not an idiot. I know his mother has something to do with his disappearance, and I am surprised by the heavy weight of guilt dragging my movements and leaving me sluggish with the void inside of me growing larger by the day.

I also know that it is my fault; I forced him into that outfit, and his mother probably saw and- and... Nagisa, like any other human, has a shattering point. This is clear; after all, he cried that day. I can assume that the mocking had both hurt and strengthened the male, and he stood up to her. I can only imagine how she would react.

That is why I tell myself it is not my fault.

x x x

_Not my fault, not my fault_ , I chant to myself as I stumble half-dead into homeroom. It's Day 4 Without Nagisa, and I feel like my actual life force is being sucked out. Who knew he had such a heavy effect on me?

I deposit my books onto my desk, my eyes downcast as I move across the room. A clap on my shoulder has me looking up to meet Terasaka's cocky grin. He jerks his chin in the direction of the front of the room, and I follow his gaze to...

My breathing falters as I spot him. He is sitting hunched in his desk with his bangs falling over his face. As if he can sense my eyes on him, he turns his face towards me, and I inhale sharply as I see how... how damaged he looks. 

One cerulean eye is swollen shut, just an accessorizing centerpiece in the masterful bruise curving down to his cheekbone and all the way up past his eyebrow. It looks as if he was purposefully hit in that one spot with something round, definitely not a fist. The opposing cheek is bloated and a pale shade of vermillion, his plump bottom lip split. A smear of red blood still dusts his lips. Even the pale column of his throat is not left unmarred, as thin, finger-shaped bruises decorates where his jawbone meets his throat.

A glance to the rest of his body sees the way he grips the sleeves of his too-large hoodie in an attempt to hide his arms, and the hunch of his body gives away the fact he must have been struck in the ribs more than once; I know the sign of bruised ribs well, having experienced the excruciating pain myself. 

Kayano's small voice jolts me from my study of his injuries, as the girl leans forward over Nagisa's desk, causing his eyes— eye— to shift their focus to her. "How many times have you fallen down the stairs, now?" Her voice is teasing, but the underlying tone of worry is obvious, and I feel a strange wave of jealousy at their intimacy.

I grimace as I remind myself I dug my own grave; I pushed myself away from him, I hurt him, and now I must face these consequences.

One more glance in his direction sends me reeling into a memory of when I first discovered that Nagisa's mother hurt— no, abused— him:

_I stood on the scratchy doormat of the Shiota household, one hand raised to knock on the door. I was a little crabby, as I invited Nagisa over to study with me that afternoon, and he had been a no-show. After two hours, I jumped into action, to confront(check on) him._

_My knuckles rapped the door tentatively, as I had yet to be introduced to Nagisa's mother— he told me of his parents' divorce previously, though I still didn't understand why he didn't live with his father, too. He only saw him for quick visits on the weekends, and I wonder now if he was worse that Nagisa's mother; that would explain how a monster like her had gotten majority custody on their son. Or maybe his father just didn't care._

_Nonetheless, I was about to meet Nagisa's mother, and I felt as nervous as if I was picking him up for prom. After a moment of awkward silence, I opened my mouth to call out to my friend, but I never managed to speak, not before an ear-splitting shriek ripped through my eardrums and caught me off balance. Stumbling back, I forced myself to stay calm and think straight._

_That was no doubt Nagisa's scream; if he needed help..._

_I finally found my control and twisted the doorknob. It was unlocked._

_The moment the door swung open, a flash of blue streaked from the darkness of the house, barreling into me and sending us both tumbling to the dead grass of his lawn. The first thing I noticed was the teams streaming down Nagisa's face as he squirmed away from our crumpled mess of limbs an sat back on his heels._

_"K-Karma? What are you doing here?" He sounded weary, tired. He splayed his hands across his face as if, as if hiding something._

_Ignoring his question, I ripped his fingers away from his face, holding his thin— too thin— wrists. And the sight I was greeted with is still engraved into my memories:_

_Nagisa, poor baby Nagisa, barely ten years old, had a welt the size my fist swelling rapidly on his cheek and transforming the abused skin a sickly shade of purple._

_My breath hitched at the sight, my grip slackening. Karma instantly ripped himself from my grip to stand. His hands balled into fists at his sides, he shook in place like a leaf ready to fall from a tree._

_Following him to his feet, I reached out and set a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Nagisa, who did this to you? Was it—" my throat felt thick just thinking of the possibility. "—your mother?"_

_Nagisa just shook his head, in more of a fearful way than a 'no'. "You should leave." He said in a trembling voice._

_"Nagisa," his name was sweet on my tongue, as I tugged him into a hug, able to feel how shaken he was. "You're not safe here. Come with me, alright?" Without waiting for an answer, I tugged him away from the place he was hurt._

_Once we were seated below the summer foliage of a low-hanging tree in the thickest part of the park, Nagisa spoke, his voice muffled by the fact his face pressed into the damp sleeve of my shirt: "You're the first person to see. I— I don't want anybody else to know. Promise you won't tell?" Watery blue eyes peered up at me, vulnerable and desolate. How could I say no?_

_I nodded and offered my pinky. "Pinky promise." I told him gently._

_A weak smile graced his lips. "I trust you, Karma," he murmured, making my chest swell with pride as he linked our pinkies._

I stare at the injuries adorning his delicate body now, and I can see how her punishments have gotten worse over time; how she hit a little harder and inflicted ten times the amount of pain on a boy only half a decade older than when I first discovered his bruises.

I have to tell someone. As much as I despise his very existence, I know a part of me still cares for him. And I can no longer ignore this part of me, screaming at me to Help.

_I trust you, Karma._

_Oh god_ , I think as I glare at my knuckles as if they will explain my younger self's stupidity. At the time, I promised because I lov— liked— Nagisa, and wanted to maintain his trust, to be the cool guy. Now I regret my choice.

Promises mean something to me, but so do the ouches that have been inflicted on him.

Terasaka is looking at me weirdly, but I ignore him as I slide into my seat and the bell trills. I am torn between upholding my word and saving Nagisa from more bruises. I know that Nagisa needs the help; telling someone is the right thing to do, but I am a prideful person.

An anonymous tip is all it takes, right? Others suspect something is wrong with Nagisa's home life, I know it. A glance at Kayano's furrowed brow is a dead give-away. But— I am the only one who knows. He would know it was me.

I slowly let my eyes find Nagisa once more, spotting him watching me. He looks so utterly shattered, his entire body radiating hurt and pain. I caused such pain, by letting him go home in that uniform. By pushing too far.

His mother didn't devastate him, not really. I pushed him towards the edge over and over again; she just crumbled the ground below him and watched him fall. But I wouldn't just watch, not anymore. I would catch him before he hit the ground.

A broken promise for the chances to patch up the wrecked pieces of Nagisa Shiota. 

Totally worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long this took to write. I thought I would have free time over the summer but I've had heaps of summer homework to do(excuses, excuses, Olivia). Anyway, this chapter turned out longer than I expected, but it's pretty much insight on Karma's thoughts, a flashback, and an idea of where this is going. Of course, if you've come from my previous fic, you know there this is going. But yeah... a longer chapter that I did NOT beta/proofread because it's midnight and I have driver's ed in the morning.
> 
> we'll see when the next chapter comes out.. :')
> 
> Thanks again for the patience with my late updates and unbeta-d words. Also thanks for the reads and comments. I do read 'em. Enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Aah this is bad, but to my defense, it's my first Ao3 work. I don't know if I'll keep this story up here or not, but it's just a sort of practice. Anyway, thank you for reading.


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